Decade
by Starherd
Summary: Cookies, Cloud's Mom, and the real reason that Cloud came to hate Sephiroth.


Happy Valentine's Day

And happy 10th Anniversary, Final Fantasy VII.

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**Decade**

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The magazines were right. General Sephiroth _was_ quite possibly the most gorgeous creature to ever walk the Planet.

Monsters had beset Nibelheim, and Shinra, having a reactor there, had finally decided to send a team to investigate. But they hadn't sent just anyone - they'd sent a SOLDIER group headed by General Sephiroth himself.

He'd looked fairly bored since he'd arrived that afternoon, she decided.

Mrs. Strife had been pleased to see her son - one of the SOLDIERs - even if he'd seemed to be strangely... quiet, on certain subjects. But that wasn't that unusual; she thought with a sigh. He'd barely written since he'd left to join SOLDIER. She supposed it was hereditary, somehow; his father never wrote, either.

Cloud had returned to the Inn a few hours ago. Over there across the square, the bar in the Inn was full to the brim of reveling townsfolk. Apparently at least one of the SOLDIERS was a perfectly good drinking companion, but really, most of the people were probably there hoping for a glimpse of the legendary general.

She'd decided, after her son left, to make cookies to give to him the next evening after his return from inspecting the reactor. Oatmeal Chocolate Chip - his favorite kind. She'd just slid the last tray into the oven to bake and gone to sit in the window seat with her notebook when she happened to look out into the square.

And there he was. The inn was still bustling and full, its lights bright, but one seemed to have escaped its pull. General Sephiroth stood alone in the square, leaning against a leg of the water tower, arms folded as he regarded the starry sky. His hair hung loose at his back like liquid moonlight.

Hastily jotting down that last thought into her notebook, Mrs. Strife glanced at the oven, then back into the square, and made her decision.

Halfway across the square, she wished that she'd brought her coat; it was a fairly cool evening. "Hello?" She called hesitantly, once she judged herself to be within a reasonable range.

She knew that he heard her - noted her presence - but he didn't acknowledge her greeting. She came closer, undeterred. "Forgive me for intruding, but what are you doing out here?"

He didn't quite look _at_ her so much as _around_ her. As though she weren't something worth worrying about.

"I mean, we usually don't go out quite this late anymore. Because of the monsters."

Now he looked at her, one eyebrow raised skeptically.

Mrs. Strife stopped at the next closest leg of the water tower. "Oh. Of course. Silly of me."

Unexpectedly, he finally responded, speaking low. "I... required air."

She frowned at his wording for a moment. "Oooh, I see. Yes, I suppose they'd be all over you at the Inn. Can't blame you at all." She folded her hands behind her, turning to inspect the sky as he did. A lock of her pulled-back blonde hair fell loose the side of her face. "You... might want to hang out somewhere else, though. This water tower's where the kids come to wait when they're meeting up for... you know."

The General had been leaning back against the wooden beams, but at her words, immediately straightened - almost as though something had bitten him. Mrs. Strife blinked - she hadn't expected anything so close to embarrassment from him.

He really _wasn't_ awfully old, was he?

"Why are you here, then?" He demanded, too composed to quite sound indignant.

Mrs. Strife smiled warmly. "I just happened to look out and saw you here. Thought you might like to know that you're advertising."

His expression was stone. Mortified stone, but stone nonetheless. "I... thank you," he said hesitantly.

His voice was marvelously deep and rich; Mrs. Strife found herself wanting to continue the conversation purely for the sake of listening to him. "I... was just making cookies," she declared, and winced. The hopeful tone in her voice made what she said seem ridiculous. "Would you like some?"

He tilted his head as though the invitation confused him. That didn't make sense. How could anyone turn down fresh homemade cookies?

"They're best right from the oven, still nice and warm," she went on, nearly cajoling. You'd think he'd never had cookies before, the way he was acting.

She took a breath to say more, but he cut her off. "Yes, thank you."

And he smiled very slightly, and Mrs. Strife could suddenly understand the impulse to follow this man into hell and beyond. She wondered how her son had caught on to that so much earlier than she had.

She convinced her guest to sit at the kitchen table, but he sat straight-backed and vaguely uncomfortable. She wondered if he knew how to actually relax at all.

"Here you go," she announced brightly, placing a plate and a mug of hot chocolate in front of her guest. "Just relax and enjoy a bit." She tilted her head. "You really haven't had cookies like this before, have you?"

He seemed uncertain, and appeared younger by the moment, here in the warmth and light. The grey hair really had nothing to do with age at all, she decided, but that was what was throwing her. She watched as he ate, nibbling on her own cookie between busying herself with boxing the cookies from the cooling racks.

The room was far, far too quiet; it seemed as though polite conversation wasn't something the man was familiar with, either. "So," Mrs. Strife began, sitting in the next chair closest to her guest. "What do you -"

She stopped when he looked up. He'd just finished a cookie, and there was a bit of chocolate from a too-warm chip smeared on one side of his upper lip.

She couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, here, just a moment," she said, reaching out without thinking. With one finger, she wiped away the chocolate.

He caught her hand before she could pull away, his head jerking back, simply staring at her with those strange, coldly luminous eyes. He seemed to be emotionless - not shocked, not outraged, not condemning - simply silent and staring.

Mrs. Strife blushed. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking," she murmured, unable to look away.

He turned his head a little, eyes never leaving hers, still gripping her hand in his. Slowly, almost cautiously, he pulled her fingers back to his mouth - and closed his lips around them, sucking gently, licking away the chocolate.

Her blush deepened, lips parting as her breathing quickened. Well, one unexpectedly intimate gesture was rewarded with another; that made perfect sense, didn't it?

It did until he pulled her closer and kissed her.

He broke the kiss after a moment. "Your name," he breathed - a command, not a question.

"C-Celeste," she managed, eyes closed. "Everyone calls me Celly -"

"Celeste," he repeated, and kissed her again. "I'd like more."

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The knock at the door the next night was expected, and it was even who Mrs. Strive had expected, but she found that she'd been hoping for... someone else.

"So how did it go?" she asked her son, seating him in the same chair at the kitchen table and offering him cookies on the same plate. "Or aren't you allowed to say?"

Cloud wouldn't meet her eyes - hardly ever would - but looked relieved at that suggestion. "Yeah, I can't say anything about it. Sorry."

"It's okay," she responded cheerfully, moving back toward the sink to continue washing dishes. "Don't worry about it." She finished a few more glasses before speaking again, not quite turning to face her son. "How's your... ah... commander?"

The boy blinked, taken aback. "He's... uh... he's... fine, mom," Cloud lied. Sephiroth hadn't been fine since they'd gotten into the reactor, it seemed, and he'd shut himself in the Shinra Mansion's basement the minute they'd gotten back into town.

And then Cloud frowned at his mother. "Are you okay? Your face looks red."

"Oh!" She laughed, waving airily as she turned back to the sink. "I'm fine, just a bit warm."

"Maybe if you changed clothes?" her son suggested. "It's kinda warm in here to be wearing a turtleneck."

"I don't have any other clean shirts, unfortunately," she responded, still not looking at him.

"But... you were doing laundry yesterday..."

"The shirts aren't dry," Mrs. Strife insisted. "I forgot and left them on the line last night and they drew damp."

"Oh." Cloud didn't sound convinced, but it didn't seem like pushing would get him any better an answer. "Uh..." He cast about for a way to change the subject. "You... um... look really nice with your hair down," he tried.

His mother smiled and laughed again. "Aw, thank you, honey," she said, turning and leaning over him to give a quick hug.

It wasn't until she turned away again that Cloud noticed the long silver hair still caught in her apron.

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"Zack?"

"Yeah," the SOLDIER 1st Class responded without looking up. He was slouched in a window seat in the Shinra Mansion, scribbling at some sort of paperwork.

"Um..."

Zack finally looked up; Strife seemed even more out of sorts than usual. Not that everything didn't seem to be heading that way at the moment. "What's up, Cloud?"

The boy stood uneasily in the doorway, a plain white box clutched in his equally white-knuckled hands. "Zack, I..."

Violet eyes narrowed. "Hey, are you okay?" He glanced down. "What's in the box, a severed head or something?"

Cloud swallowed, choking when the action seemed to stick in his throat. "Cookies. My..." He swallowed again. "My mom gave them to me."

"Oh yeah? Awesome, gimme."

"Zack..."

"Well, I could just order you to share, but that's not as much fun."

"Zack, I think... my mom..."

Cloud was looking particularly disturbed. Zack frowned. "Is she okay?"

"She said she was fine..." The boy swallowed again. "I think... my mom and... and the General..."

Zack blinked. And blinked again.

And grinned.

Cloud went from pale to a rather interesting shade of red. His superior was not _supposed_ to be laughing.

"Well, that explains why he got back so late last night," Zack chuckled.

"_ZACK!_"

"What?" Cloud looked like he was about to die of embarrassment; Zack had never seen anyone quite that shade of red. Time to cut him some slack. "Seriously, what's the matter? I've seen your mom. She's hot."

Cloud attempted to squawk at his superior again and only choked instead. One edge of the thin cardboard box crumpled in his grip. "But - but she's -"

"You told me yourself she never married. And she's what, maybe ten years older than he is?" Zack shrugged. "My parents are twelve years apart. Ten years is nothing."

Being only sixteen, ten years seemed like a great deal to Cloud. He made a whimpering noise, hanging his head.

Zack frowned. The kid sure seemed inclined to take this as hard as he possibly could. "Ah, cheer up," he suggested, setting down the papers and standing up. "You never know. Maybe she just gave him cookies. Speaking of which..." He stood before his subordinate with his hands on his hips. "You gonna share or what?"

Cloud turned a little green. "You can have them."

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**Disclaimer: **Final Fantasy VII, its story, and characters are the property, copyright and trademark of Square Electronic Arts L.L.C., and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.


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